


Prologue

by sonderlust18



Series: Per Mare, Per Terram [1]
Category: Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie, Peter and Wendy - J. M. Barrie
Genre: Fantasy, Historical, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonderlust18/pseuds/sonderlust18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A few things:</p>
<p>-I've edited the timeline to make more sense. You can find an in-depth explanation on why here: the-canons.tumblr.com</p>
<p>-I'm trying to write this story as J.M. Barrie-like as possible, so bare with me. Writing style and everything.</p>
<p>-Official tumblr for this fanfic is here: the-edwardian-adventurer.tumblr.com<br/>I'll post large bios and other such goodies on there for reference purposes.</p>
<p>Now, onto the Edwardian slang:<br/>-cosy corner: an arrangement of built-in seats situated in a room’s corner or next to a fireplace<br/>-cut it: escape, take off, take a vacation<br/>-foots: English football</p>
    </blockquote>





	Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A few things:
> 
> -I've edited the timeline to make more sense. You can find an in-depth explanation on why here: the-canons.tumblr.com
> 
> -I'm trying to write this story as J.M. Barrie-like as possible, so bare with me. Writing style and everything.
> 
> -Official tumblr for this fanfic is here: the-edwardian-adventurer.tumblr.com  
> I'll post large bios and other such goodies on there for reference purposes.
> 
> Now, onto the Edwardian slang:  
> -cosy corner: an arrangement of built-in seats situated in a room’s corner or next to a fireplace  
> -cut it: escape, take off, take a vacation  
> -foots: English football

It was wintertime in London.

On a lonely street, quite off the beaten path, there was a young girl. She was sitting on a cozy corner* in her room, looking out the window. She seemed to be watching nothing at all as she sat there, her eyes occasionally darting to watch the snowflakes as they began to fall. But we all know that when it seems there is nothing to behold, there is a great adventure lurking just behind the corner. In truth, she was recollecting the events of that day. They went thusly.

Earlier that evening, her best friend's auntie, whom she called Auntie, for she was of Indian descent, was telling them a wondrous tale about a boy named Peter Pan. According to Auntie, she had been an ayah to the Mannering family, and he had paid a special visit to the girl of the family, a cheeky thing named Maimie. You see, Maimie had cut it* one day while Auntie had taken the children to Kensington Gardens. Running and hiding from her ayah, little Maimie, just a few years old at the time, had spent the night at the Gardens. Her family was more worried than furious, and her ayah had been fired soon after, which Auntie claimed was a mistake on their part, though she was wont to say such things, as it had been a well paying job. It was then that Auntie began to go on and on about the children of the Mannerings; how misbehaved they were, and how discipline never seemed to work. She claimed that Maimie had been so naughty at night, pretending to see spirits and 'other such nonsense', as Auntie described, all to scare her elder brother, Tony. Of course, such screaming worked on the young lad, and neither mother nor ayah tended to get sleep very often during those days. As Auntie was telling this story, James and Victoria, for that was the girl's name, drew sidelong glances at each other. Auntie had a tendency to get carried away with her thoughts, as it seemed to be with all elder women. For you see, the older you get, the more of the past you become. And so James, wanting to hear the story he and his friend had been promised, piped up. "Auntie", he whinged softly, "you promised to tell us of the story of Peter Pan." Victoria recalled Auntie scrunching her face up indignantly, and stared straight at her young nephew. It looked as if she were about to reprimand him, and if it were any other child, she would have done so; but James held a special place in her heart, and she could never be cross with him. To appease him, she finally began the tale of Peter Pan.

She began by saying that it had been naughty Maimie who had told her this tale. She had said that upon staying late in Kensington Gardens, she had come across a large assortment of fairies going to a ball. Maimie had been rather excitedly told her, also, that she'd befriended a plain-looking fairy who became the wife of a regal, cold hearted lord. The full story of the fairies, though, were neither here nor there, as this was the story of Peter Pan. 

According to Maimie, she had been chased off by the angry fairies, as she had attended their ball uninvited. Running from them, she ended up becoming very sleepy; and so, she slept in a quaint little spot in the snow. Eventually finding her, the interesting creatures built a house about her sleeping form, though they had been quite set to kill her before. (The plain-looking fairy had begged for Maimie's life, you see, as a boon from the Queen of fairies.) And in that little house, Maimie stayed warm and asleep, until she awoke the next morning, startled though curious as to what had been built around her. Getting out of the house, though, led her story into a rather tragic twist. As soon as she had gotten out of the house, it shrunk before her very eyes! She did try to catch it and stop it from shrinking, of course, for such a fine piece of craftsmanship is a sorrowful thing to lose. But to no avail, it had shrunk. Maimie claimed it was then, as she was looking upon the spot it had vanished in a dejected fashion, that Peter Pan of Kensington Gardens came to her.  
Peter Pan had a special air about him, she said. He was red haired, no, blonde - or was it black? Auntie had forgotten. She did remember that he had twinkling green eyes. They talked a bit of the house that had shrunken, and he related to her all that had come to pass until the moment she had awoken. She was quite embarrassed to admit that he was, in fact, completely unclothed. Worried, she had asked the boy if he was cold, but he claimed that he didn't feel such things the way normal people do. Alas, during this part of the tale Auntie claimed to have forgotten again what happened, and rose from her seat. Victoria remembers her asking both her and James if they would like some tea, and, like all children do, they agreed. After all, as all children knew, there could never be a tea time without biscuits. Everyone knows that biscuits complete everything, after all.

Victoria had a brief conversation with James during this small intermission of their story. She recalled James saying that she wishes that Auntie's memory was better, and Victoria nodded in agreement. It was an important detail to know a person's detail, for you couldn't pin a stereotype about hair color to someone who's hair you didn't know the color too. Whether he was black hair and clever, like a mischievous raven, a sly and mysterious red head, like a fox, a laid-back blonde with hair the color of straw, or a bookish brunette. Victoria pooh poohed at things she did not know the answers to, and even though it was, in retrospect, a rather minute detail, she still considered it very important. Usually, upon hearing observing this behavior, one reading this story might consider retorting that life would be no fun at all if you knew all the answers. But Victoria would be quick to retort back that, perhaps it was so, but going through your life as blind as a bat to future happenings seemed like a rather pathetic way to live, too. 

Auntie was not long with the tea. It was strong, black tea, and Victoria remembers that she grasped it gently around the circumference, enjoying the warmth of it on her hands. Setting a tin of Huntley and Palmer's biscuits on the small table in front of her, Auntie settled back into her chair, and sipped a cup of tea. Then she continued her tale of Peter Pan. 

It was truly a marvelous tale, though a short one. She remembered sitting there with James after the story had finished, with a strange feeling in her chest she couldn't quite explain. It lingered all the way until she left for home, and even stayed through dinner. Dinner was unpleasant as usual. Victoria's father talking of some strange eccentric nonsense that had no practical application, her mother sighing and rolling her eyes, though she was too polite to say anything. Her brother was being particularly naughty that evening, flicking his mash at her hair. After a few times it finally hit, for Cedric's aim was poor, even though he played foots*. Victoria, having enough, as a little lady rightfully should have, stood from the table, and asked to be excused. Getting permission from her parents, she pushed her chair in and hurriedly walked away towards the stairs, narrowly missing another flick from her brother. 

Once she was upstairs, she repeated her usual routine. Hair put up nice and proper, she slipped her blue and white laced night gown on. Sitting on the cozy corner, we now return to the present.  
The feeling had returned. It was a similar feeling to when she found a new book she was curious about, but there was an air of mystery about it. One a girl of barely 11 summers could quite comprehend, as if there were forces that she couldn't sense behind it. As she stared out the window, she rested her chin on her hands, which were tightly around her legs. 

On the other side of the room, a peculiar thing began to happen. A small ball of light, hiding in the girl's lamp, slowly peaked out of the glass. Victoria was too tired to notice, though, for it was late for a girl of almost eleven summers to be up. "I will find you, Peter Pan", she whispered to no one in particular; perhaps it was meant for herself. Either way, dear readers, she would come to regret those words. But now, let's let her sleep and dream of whatever it is un-silly girls such as her dream about. For the real adventure starts the next morrow, before breakfast.


End file.
